Adrian Lester’s Othello at National Theatre is worth the wait

Olivia Vinall and Adrian Lester in Othello at the National Theatre (Picture: Johan Persson)

Seeing Adrian Lester take on the role of Othello has been one of the most eagerly awaited theatrical events of the year.

This is, after all, one of our best classical actors, who, a decade ago gave us a towering performance as Henry V in Nicholas Hytner’s modern-dress production, on the same National Theatre stage.

Once again Hytner directs; once again it’s modern-dress, with an extraordinary, rigorous attention to clarity of language: at times you forget they’re speaking in Elizabethan verse.

It’s fascinating what a contemporary military perspective brings to the play. The sweaty masculinity of Othello’s world is foregrounded, its rigid formalities only just keeping a lid on the soldiers’ broiling violent energy.

Lester’s Othello – initially, in the Venice scenes – shines with natural authority and unforced charisma. But when the action switches to Cyprus, a military base realised here in brutalist concrete slabs and drab, strip-lit rooms, you see much more clearly than usual what a fatal mistake he made by bringing his new bride.

Olivia Vinall’s Desdemona flits, butterfly-like, amid the khaki, blithely unaware of protocol and an utter distraction to an Othello almost giddy with love. She may have fallen for her army general’s heroic tales, but she has no concept of day-to-day concerns.

And Rory Kinnear’s superbly mapped Iago, a blokey diamond geezer always squawking about his honesty, lasers in on this breach in Othello’s defences. In this performance, none of his proffered reasons for attacking Othello ring true – which only adds to the horror. And Kinnear is a marvellously malevolent presence: you’re always aware of him lurking to hear key pieces of information that he stores away for later, devastating use.

As the awful events he sets in motion take on a life of their own, he watches others’ anger, pain and suffering with the amazed fascination of a psychopath regarding a trussed-up victim.

Kinnear’s Iago could easily dominate the piece here, but Lester’s thunderous rage, his wracking sobs at his wife’s perceived treachery, and his final, broken flailing are enthralling in their power. The fact that the death scene takes place in a grim, cheaply furnished army barracks bedroom makes you realise what a sordid, squalid mess the whole ending truly represents – but nothing detracts from the grandeur of Lester’s tragically deceived hero.